Lata reached for the cooler box that she always took with her when travelling and that had blessedly cold water in it. When her hand didn't encounter it, she didn't know who to blame: the maidservant for not putting it in the car, or the driver for forgetting to put it in exactly the same spot that she liked. She pulled her hand back, smiling ruefully at her own silliness. Enterprises like the one that she had just indulged in, did not involve safe, everyday things like a cooler box.
Where was she being taken now? Would he take her straight back to Baba, washing his hands off her forever? It wasn't that far really. She could have been there herself by now, if she'd had the courage to find a phone and make that call. More importantly, what explanation could she have given?
Baba, that strict old man, who happened to be her father. In the old days, they either killed girls like her or disowned them forever. It could still happen. A little of the waiting room fear came back. Where would she go then? She couldn't possibly face her so-called friends. Nor would any relative of hers even allow her inside their house, for fear of Baba's wrath. Not that she would stoop so low as to go crawling to them.
She needn't have worried... not yet anyway. They weren't going to Baba's, as they had passed the turning to go to Baba’s. She peered out. A sign flashed by. Udaspur. She couldn't believe it. They were going home after all! Instinctively her eyes went to the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were shocked and fearful; Ajay’s were steady, with a flame of anger in them.
After that he took the never-ending papers out of his briefcase and concentrated on them. Grateful to those papers for once, she sank back. She might as well rest now, for who knew what lay ahead?
***
Lata’s eyes must have closed, for as the car braked, she saw that they were in Udaspur now. It wouldn't be long before they got home. Anxiety gripped her again. At least it was night and there would be very few people to witness the return of the runaway wife.
A sense of unreality overtook her. She was seeing streets and houses she had thought never to see again. Against her will, a bitter smile at her own naiveté escaped her lips.
When the car stopped in front of the gates, it was as if she had floated away and was observing everything from above, not part of the scene at all.
Was the short dumpy woman who got out of the car as soon as it stopped in the portico, clutching her sari too tightly, really herself? Her face was tense and her make-up had run down hours ago, making her face ghastly. Looking neither to the left or right, yet noticing that the lights in the office were on, she went straight to her room and collapsed on the bed.
***
‘Your tea will get cold, Memsahib.’ Usha’s sing-song voice woke her up, as it did every morning.
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